Charlie Regrets
by Silly Lily 17
Summary: Charlie regrets a lot of things, but one thing is for certain; he doesn’t regret Bella. He regrets himself. He regrets letting it get to this point. Rated T for language.
1. Charlie Regrets

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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Atop the mantle piece lay a photograph.

Face down, its creamy white back blends in smoothy with the surrounding color of the mantle.

A distinct layer of dust surrounds the photo's edges, framing it to its surroundings. However, its back is almost dust free, evidence that it is handled often, while its surroundings remain ignored.

The house is eerily quiet. Through the open window crickets can be heard, and a warm breeze can be felt blowing in. It is two in the morning, and the only source of light is given by the moon, pooling through the open window and basking the room in a soft glow.

From his position in the arm chair, Charlie Swan lets out a long deep breath, smoke dancing out of his mouth and into the surrounding air. The open window does little to help dilute the smell, but he decides he doesn't care anymore. Another drag of the cigarette, and his hand falls back down onto the arm rest. He needs to ash the cigarette, but his mind is elsewhere. He has yet to notice.

He disgusts himself. He should be helping her.. But he doesn't know how. He never learnt to be a father. To be a good father, that is. He will have to make due with mediocre. That is, after all, how it has always been.

Somewhere along the way, he wonders where he went wrong. Was it when he agreed to let her live here with him? Or was it when he started working over time to be out of the house and allow himself to live further in this denial?

Or was it as far back as when he married Renée?

The photograph on the mantle suddenly finds itself back in Charlie's hands. His grip is tight, but delicate enough to not crush it. Most of the time these days Charlie felt like this was all he has left of his little girl. He must protect it.

A single tear rolls down Charlie's face as he gets lost in the chocolaty brown eyes that gaze lovingly up at him from the picture.

To his left, Charlie hears a noise. The distant sounds of foot steps up the wooden porch. It groans under the light weight of the walker. The front door swings open and shut again. It is apparent that she is trying to be quiet, but is not doing a good job.

Bella steps in. In the moon light that streams through the open window, Bella and Charlie stop and look at each other.

"You've been smoking." It is a statement. She knows he will not deny it, and somewhere beneath all the pain she has already been living with, Bella feels a sharp stab in her chest. Bella knows it is her fault. And yet for some sick and twisted reason, she doesn't seem care.

Charlie looks deeply into her eyes. He hasn't moved from the chair, and Bella hasn't moved from her position in the middle of the living room.

He looks down at the cigarette between his fingers. Finally, he ashes it. The picture remains in his other hand. Charlie is no longer captured by it, but rather by the look on Bella's face.

There is no emotion there anymore. His little girl has died.

Bella shifts the bag that she has slung over her shoulder. Her sudden movement brings Charlie's attention to what she holds in her left hand.

"You've been drinking," he retaliates. It too, is merely a statement. If Bella wanted to keep it a secret, she had been doing a poor job. She shrugs her shoulders.

Without breaking eye contact, Bella raises the bottle to her lips and downs the final bit of alcohol. Charlie visibly cringes, but does not look away. In the back of his head he wonders how she can do that without wincing at the burning taste of the straight alcohol. _Because that isn't the worst of the pain._

Bella lowers the bottle from her lips slowly. Carelessly, she lets it fall from her grasp. Charlie takes another drag of the cigarette as it crash to the floor. Shards of glass surround Bella's bare feet. She makes no move to clean it up.

There is a pregnant pause, where neither of them say a word. Bella is too drunk to speak coherently, and Charlie doesn't have the strength left in himself to do anything about it. From across the room, Charlie can smell the booze on her.

He musters up the courage to talk to her. "Good night, Bella."

Since when did he need courage to talk to his daughter?

Oh yeah, since _he _broke her.

That is her cue to head upstairs for the night. She does not argue. Bella turns and walks away, her bare feet landing deliberately on the broken shards of glass. If there is any pain, it does not register on her face.

For what seems like hours, the house is quiet. The only sound to be heard is that of the crickets outside and Charlie's steady breathing. He is still holding the photo.

It is aged, the edges bent slightly. Taken probably sometime around her third birthday, Bella is sitting in a field holding a large, bright sunflower between her tiny hands. There is a single petal missing, having found itself logged in between the curly in her hair. Her hair. It is a long, curly mess, swept over one shoulder. Small wisps of it cling to her smooth, round face. She is smiling, showing her tiny white teeth.

Her eyes are what capture Charlie the most. All her life, Bella's eyes have been the window to her soul. From the day she was born, to _that_ day, Charlie has always been able to read her feelings. Bella might not have been aware of it, but it was always evident to him what she was feeling.

That is what hurts him the most. He can't see the feelings anymore. In the photo, Bella is happy, her eyes are laughing and her smile glows.

But her eyes don't laugh anymore, and there is no smile left to see glow.

Charlie regrets a lot of things, but one thing is for certain; he doesn't regret Bella. He regrets himself. He regrets letting it get to this point.

Somewhere along the way, he lost his Bella, and he has no one to blame but himself.

His thoughts are interrupted by an agonizing scream from upstairs. It doesn't surprise Charlie, like it would most parents, to hear their child screaming in discomfort. After continuous nights of enduring her nightmares from an outsider's position, Charlie has come to accept the fact that he can't stop them. Again, he believes he fails as a father.

He can hear her thrashing around in the bed. He wonders almost absent mindedly if he should wake her up before she falls out and hurts herself. However, after considering what happened last time he did that, he decides to leave her.

Her screams continue for what seems like hours. It isn't new. It is actually rare for her to not suffer aloud from her dreams.

Charlie has had enough. For the first time in a long time, he breaks down. He does something he never thought he would do. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his ancient looking cell phone. He dials a number that he is not even sure will work.

From the other end of the line, a velvety voice announces itself almost immediately.

"Hello?"

To Charlie, it is not a velvet voice. It is a sinister one. He _hates_ it.

There is no need for formalities, no need to tell the man on the other end of the line who is calling.

"You need to come back. You need to _give me my daughter back_." Charlie chokes over the words.

The line goes dead, the dial tone buzzing in Charlie's ear. He lights another cigarette. Charlie should have known that wouldn't work.

_**Bastard**_.

Nothing surprises Charlie anymore. From the nightly cries that echo out of his daughters bedroom, to her new rebellious tendencies, he is barely fazed. But, what happens next, really does surprise him.

Not a minute has passed, and Charlie suddenly finds himself no longer alone. The glass of brandy that had been approaching his lips remains frozen mid air. Edward Cullen is standing in the middle of Charlie's living room, still holding his cell phone tightly in his hand. Topaz eyes lock with Charlie's brown ones and neither makes a move to stifle Bella's continuous screams from upstairs.

 Edward waits for Charlie's nod, and flies up the stairs full speed as soon as Charlie gives his silent permission. Edward no longer cares to hid his abilities. Maybe it is for the best if Charlie knows.

Who was he kidding? Charlie always knew there was something different about him. Fuck it. Fuck secrecy. _Fuck Edward Cullen for being the only person able to fix his daughter. _

Within minutes, the screaming has stopped. Loud, wet sobs have taken their place, echoing down the stairs and into the living room.

It should be Charlie up there holding her. It should be Charlie who silences her cries and rocks her into a calm pleasant sleep. It should be Charlie who protects her from heart break. But Charlie doesn't know how.

He stays seated in the arm chair. He doesn't care how he got here so fast, or how he got in the house so silently, or even why the hell he was here in Forks and not in California where Carlisle said they were living. All he cares about is getting his daughter back. He downs the glass of brandy in one.


	2. Vodka

This was going to be a one – shot, but I guess I just turned it into a two-shot. Haha, oops. :)

This is sort of just the same thing as the first chapter, but rather from Bella's perspective.

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The forest holds great significance to her. She doesn't necessarily want it to, but it does nonetheless.

Here in Forks, Bella can hardly find a piece of land that _isn't _forest. Back in Phoenix, she was hard-pressed to find evidence of forests at all. But after all this time living in a sea of green, she has no problem with her inability to find anything brown. Brown was like a trap. Brown meant Phoenix, brown meant her mother.

Now, its not to say she doesn't love her mother. Renée has been a fabulous mom. She's always there for her daughter. The problem is she is never _here._

Bella misses her. She considers for just a second that maybe she was wrong to protest when Charlie told her he wanted her to leave and live with her mom again. But no. Bella wanted to do this. She wanted to get over this on her own. What a wonderful job she was doing.

Her bag lay on the mossy ground at her feet. She is alone in the forest. Not far from Charlie's house, but not exactly in view of it either. From experience she knows she should not be here alone, especially at night, but right now she doesn't seem to care. Maybe it's the alcohol. Or maybe she just doesn't give a fuck anymore.

Maybe it's a combination of both. She doesn't know anymore.

There is a large bottle in her hands. Bella has no preference really, but at the moment she's practically downing vodka, straight from the bottle. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registers that this is probably a bad idea. Bella laughs out loud, breaking the surrounding silence. What does it matter if it's bad for her? She's going to die sooner or later. No doubt about that. Everyone goes eventually. Well.. not _everyone._ Not _them_.

But that is beside the point at the moment. She is on a mission. A pathetic mission, but a mission nonetheless.

It has become routine. Wait until Charlie has gone to bed, sit outside somewhere she cannot be seen, and get wasted. Hammered. Plastered. Absolutely bloody _sloshed._

She wants to forget, and forget she will.

Bella is almost done the bottle. She disgusts herself. She is tempted to throw it, and watch as it smashes against the branches of a nearby tree, but she stops herself. From behind her, she hears a twig snap. Or she thinks she does at least. Bella is way too drunk to know better. Her reaction time is delayed. It feels like forever since she swung her head around in the direction of the noise, but there is nothing there. She feels dizzy from the sudden movement, and laughs aloud until a thought occurs to her.

It's a bad though. It's always a bad thought when she has it. Never in a million years would he come back for her. She doesn't believe that. There is no way. The vodka is telling her that he is the source of the noise, but she knows better. She knows that is ridiculous.

Her sanity seems to be slipping. Bella stands alone in the forest, her arms stretched out on either side of her body, one gripping the bottle tightly, the other palm up, fingers flexing. She tilts her head back and laughs again. She laughs until she cries.

The sky cries with her too. Raindrops seem to be able to find their way between the over grown trees above, and land on her skin softly. They feel inviting, and she feels more alive when she's drunk.

Edward doesn't love her and all she can do about it is get drunk and cry in a forest. She knows it is pathetic. She knows she needs to do something other than drink, but she doesn't want to. The harsh burn of alcohol running freely down her throat is too inviting.

It is raining harder now. Bella checks once again for the sound of the disturbance, but finds nothing. Knowing Bella, she probably just imagined it. Bella imagines a lot lately, even when she is not under the influence. Maybe she's done some sort of permanent damage. Probably not, but she laughs at the idea regardless. Fuck it. She has nothing to give anymore anyway, so why should it matter?

She picks up the bag, and slings it over her shoulder. The movement rattles the contents, and the sound of glass bottles clinking together fills the air. More alcohol. There is always more alcohol.

With the rest of the vodka bottle in hand, she staggers off towards the house. Stealth is important as she climbs the porch steps. It is almost like a game to her. Get in the house without Charlie hearing her. It's a hard game to beat while intoxicated.

There are no lights on. This is a good sign. The bad sign however, makes itself apparent when Bella enters the living room, intending on climbing the stairs and locking herself in her bedroom. She stops in her tracks.

Seated in the arm chair, is Charlie. _Smoking_.

 Silence envelops them as they both remain motionless, looking each other in the eyes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bella wonders when he started smoking. Eventually, she speaks.

"You've been smoking."

Pain. More pain. Come on, add it to the pile that already exists inside. Take it, and let it suffocate whatever little bit is left of the heart. She deserves it. She deserves it and she knows it.

"You've been drinking." It's pure retaliation. Charlie is a grown man, he is not at fault for smoking, but she is for drinking under age.

This reminds Bella of the bottle in her hands. She finishes it without breaking eye contact with her dad. It smashes to the ground. She doesn't care.

She is sent to bed.

Bella walks away, stepping on the broken shards of glass that lay around where her feet were. She doesn't feel the pain. She doesn't smell the iron in her own blood. She doesn't notice she has left a trail of blood on the beige carpet up the stairs. It's an ugly carpet anyway.

Her bed looks inviting. Somehow, she manages to slip out of her jeans, and pull off her sweater. Bella climbs into bed in her underwear and tank top.

The alcohol takes over, and she is sent into a deep sleep. The dreams, however, come quickly.

Vampires. Always vampires. Good vampires, bad vampires. Specific vampires,_ a specific vampire _plays the starring role as usual. Almost like watching a movie for the hundredth time, Bella re watches as he leaves her. Her heart crumbles again as he tells her he doesn't love her anymore.

The screams come shortly after, as always..

In the midst of her dream, Bella is vaguely aware of someone touching her. Cold arms have enveloped her body. Still asleep, she cries harder when she hears that soothing, velvety voice whisper in her ear.

Suddenly, it feels too real.

She is aware that she is not in a forest, but rather in her bedroom. She is aware that the strong arms surrounding her aren't restraining her, but comforting her and untangling her from the mess of blankets. The voice isn't telling her he hates her, that she is useless and stupid. It is telling her it loves her.

Somewhere between the realm of dreams and reality, Bella stops screaming and begins to sob. Her eyes eventually peal open and her heart breaks once again.

She never thought she could endure such heart ache.

Edward was holding her closely to his body, rubbing smooth circles on her back as he always did, and whispering in her ear.

"I'm so sorry Bella."

Her cries become louder. The back of her mind is shouting no, but the front is yelling yes.

She wants to believe it, but this cannot be true. Numbly, a part of her registers that it was probably him that made the noise in the forest. He was probably watching her.

"I'm here, Bella. I'm not going anywhere, ever again. I promise. I'm so sorry, Bella." A delicate kiss is pressed into the top of her head, as her hands roughly grasp his shirt, pulling his as close as possible. Eventually, she finds words again between her sobs.

"_Why?"_

Edward waits until her sobs have subsided somewhat to answer her.

"I.. I thought you would be better off without me. I was wrong... Look at you Bella. What have you done to yourself? What have _I _done to _you_?"

He hesitates, unsure if what he is about to say is the right thing at the moment. He risks it anyway.

"I love you, Bella. I never stopped."

The sobs return, but she is not angry. Somewhere inside, Bella is happy. Hurt, but happy. Through the tears she chokes the four words he was hoping to hear back.

"I love you, too."

For good measure however, she adds a few more words, almost as if it was an after thought.

"..you stupid asshole."

He finds his face pressed to hers before he can even register her actions. Their lips locked in a desperate embrace, moving in perfect synchronization. Their time apart suddenly didn't matter anymore. Bella thought alcohol was the perfect thing to take off the edge. She was wrong. This was.

Bella lets herself succumb to the powers of Edward Cullen once again.


End file.
